


Solace

by baby_worm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: ;), Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Fluff, Non Gender Specific Reader, Poetry, Sorry still nothing is happening, The Force, except for the use of feminine suffixes in Spanish pet names, kind of angst but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_worm/pseuds/baby_worm
Summary: Kylo returns to the Finalizer after a long mission.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I know I used italics for the flashbacks /and/ speaking through the Force but it's easy lol. And I know the flashbacks are still like super vague. I might flesh out some more context of their relationship later on but for now, have some fluff. xoxo

Tonight makes twenty-one days. Twenty-one days without hearing the bed creak before the digital simulation of dawn. Twenty-one days without tender, stolen kisses. Twenty-one days without hands, brushing and caressing and grabbing and pulling. Twenty-one days without the passion of a hot mouth on your own, nipping and biting and sucking and moaning and loving. Without vulnerable whispers exchanged in the safety of the darkness. Without the warmth of another body lulling you to sleep. Twenty-one days without _him._

The relentlessly dry glow of your datapad glared back at you. Your calendar illuminated across the screen. It was decorated in work notes, meeting notifications, time stamps, and one red _x_ , marking the night Kylo had left with his Knights on a mission he hadn’t briefed you on.

You sighed, shrugging off your uniform in the small, quiet privacy of your quarters. You watched the screen dim absentmindedly. It was absolutely hateful the way he made you wait. Hateful the way impatience pulled you taut, kept you up, scrambled your attention. Hateful that the impatience wasn’t a singular need, but instead a heart mourning the distance for that whom it was devoted to.

You shed the rest of your clothes, and made your way to the ensuite.

The irrigation whined and the water sputtered as you adjusted the temperature of the shower. You scrutinized your reflection for a moment, imagining the containers of frustrated, unshed tears you might fill if you’d ever allowed yourself to recall the night he offered you such little insight.

_Your eyes widened. “Is it dangerous?”_

_“Continue your usual duties. You will reside in your quarters otherwise until I return.”_

_“Kylo, please, I-”_

_“I will return to the Finalizer when I have done what’s needed. Do not doubt me.”_

_Your eyes shot to the floor, and heat prickled at your cheeks in shame._

_“Muñeca.”_

_“I understand, Supremo.”_

Your eyes were swollen, exhausted, but your lips were pulled tight, and your nostrils flared with another stabilizing breath before turning away. You couldn’t doubt him, not now. Not when his word was the only indication you had that he would return. Dismissing the memory, you stepped into the shower and let the relief of water still the restlessness that rattled you.

The sharp, sterile scent of your uniform soap wafted as you popped the cap and squeezed out a generous amount to lather. As you washed, your mind drifted back to Kylo, you had to call out for him. Had to see if he would make himself known to you. Your eyes felt hot and you closed them and tried to realign your heart away from panic with a deep breath into your belly. You focused your being within the Force that fluttered around you. The pulsing, glowing, shifting entity of yourself beyond the dimensions of your body. You wiped a hand through the Force and pushed your voice like wind, searching, calling out into the darkness for your heart’s beloved.

_“Kylo.”_

You waited, but not even your call reverberated through the plane. You eased yourself back, still breathing deliberately, feeling your own hands on you. The slide of bubbles and glycerin, the pelting of water against your chest. The whipping of the puddle beneath your feet. Tried not to focus on the disappointment that your will alone could not conjure him.

_Months ago, when everything between you was delicate and new, you’d think of him. Think of a single one of his hands expanding across the circumference of your throat. Think of his breath hot, panting against your ear. Think of his teeth, refined, sharpened pearls nibbling across the supple flesh of your thighs and the stinging skin of your backside. You’d let your mind wander, and within moments you’d receive a private summons. Your heart would leap out of your chest when you’d realize you’d been projecting. It’d soon become your favorite game, your chest would coil in excitement that he would only one-up your fantasies._

As you reached for the faucet, a pressure began to build in your ears, muffling the sound of the water. You stilled as suddenly a powerful, prickly hum found you, punctuated by the wavering sound of heavy, squeaking boots. The beats echoed around you, bouncing off the glass partitions of the shower. Your heart picked up, and you thrusted a tendril out through the Force.

_“¿Divino?”_

_“Muñeca.”_

_“Mande.”_

_“Estoy volviendo.”_

The humming ceased abruptly.

The diminuendo of the water soothed you for a moment as you dried off quickly. There was no point of looking in the mirror. No point of stressing over the sleepwear uniform you’d appear in tonight. No point in waiting to hear the tumblers of your door click as you raced out into the hallways of the ship. What mattered was that he would be where you could find him.

Parallel strips of lights dashed over your head as you navigated through corridor after corridor. He’d been away for long before. Maybe longer if you thought about it. It always left you with some kind of open door to heartbreak, there was always a slippery slope to spiral in. You weren’t so sure how you’d become so desperate to see him, if you could trust he would find a way back to you. Maybe it was the fatigue of official work. The effort of empty smiles you served those you only strove to please. Maybe it was just this time that was particularly hard. Whatever it was though, it was ending, and the light was beginning to show at the end of the tunnel.

As you neared the threshold of his quarters, your hands tugged at the sash of your cardigan around your waist in an attempt to brace yourself. The hatch slid open without provocation and hissed shut as you passed through.

The lights inside were dimmed. Tracks of his boots trailed in a straight pattern accented with a brick red coagulated ink. His robes were tossed over themselves in a bin next to the doorway of the ensuite. The noise of the shower filled the space around your heartbeat that pulsed in your ears. And there he stood, magnificently stark naked - just stepping in to the shower. Misshapen splotches of reds and purples and greens adorned the rippling muscles across his back and over the delectable curves of his haunches.

“Divino.”

His head whipped at the sound of your voice, revealing grimy smears of dust and ash that veiled his face and his neck.

Your heart palpitated and you tethered your body to the floor. Now wasn’t the time to crowd him, to tell him how worried you were. If his face weren’t so muddied, he would’ve been blue for every breath he must’ve held in while burying his thoughts of you, ones that might compromise his focus, his mobility while he was in action.

He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. His eyes burned with wordless exhaustion.

“You’re hurt.”

He looked away, stepping into the shower. “It’s nothing. Let me get clean.”

You remained leaning against the doorway, and combed through your anxiety with the tendrils of the Force, like fingers through knotted hair. You allowed yourself to feel him in the room, the fluctuating perimeter of his aura nudging against yours; To feel the cold slick floor as you toed off your shoes. Even though he was paces from you now, at least you were near him. You were safe. And you could revel in that.

The steady sound of the shower ceased suddenly and Kylo stepped out, grabbing a towel from the handle on the partition. He hardly winced as he patted down some of the raw, irritated flesh of artificial wounds.

“Can I clean those?”

He looked up at you and nodded, eyes ticking over your face.

You gestured to the toilet and turned to get a first aid kit that was stocked away on silver shelves along the aisle of his generously spacious refresher. You took a moment to rummage through the bag and pulled out a few sealed packs of wipes and a small container of bacta. He was patient, quiet. You felt his pulse slow as he was liberated from the adrenaline of war with each breath. He was sat over the lid of the toilet, shoulders slumped, eyes vacant; probably washing themselves of whatever horrors he’d seen in the days passed.

You twisted open the little container of bacta. He was spaced out, spiritlessly enduring your handiwork on the angry little wounds that decorated his arms and shoulders. You picked at the ointment with the back of your nail and swiped a little onto a bruise on his cheekbone.

You gripped the side of his shoulder firmly, and he blinked back up to you. “Can you turn for me?”

He complied, holding on to the towel that was wrapped around his waist as he adjusted himself. Scooping out a little more bacta with the tips of your fingers, you massaged circles into the purple-green blotches that stretched over the expanse of otherwise smooth, creamy flesh. He sighed a little at that and leaned into your touch.

The first aid kit was replaced back on it’s shelf, and you rinsed your hands of the medicine. Kylo still sat there with his back to you, long hair dripping water over the wounds you’d cleaned. So you grabbed another towel. “Turn back to me, please.”

You shook out the folded creases of the towel and stepped closer, between Kylo’s legs. He looked up at you as you brought the towel around his head and began scrunching his hair dry. His eyes fluttered shut at the delightful pull of his hair, distracting him from the likely throbbing headache of exertion. He slouched further so you stepped closer and pulled on him gently to rest his face against your sternum. His arms wrapped around your waist and he slurred a grateful acknowledgement. When his hair was suspended in half-dry raven waves, you deemed your work adequate. It wasn’t worth much if he was going to sleep on it anyways. So you flipped the towel over your shoulder and pulled him close, mindful of his injuries. His face nuzzled into you, and you kissed the top of his head and rested your cheek on it.

You pulled away slightly, hands on either sides of his shoulders to lure his gaze to yours, before you tentatively placed a kiss against sweet, flushed lips. His arms unwound from around you so he could rest his hands on your hips. His mouth was so soft, and his teeth nipped at your bottom lip tenderly. The kiss was slow as lips pressed and tongues searched, finding amorphous comfort: a glowing, flowing unction of solace. You released him with a soft smack and your hands came up to cup his face, to brush his hair away and rub the soft shell of his ears, as your gazes held each other in a warm admiration. Your hands slid back down his shoulders, his arms, and clutched both of his hands in your own. You brought his knuckles to your lips, tending to the speckled broken vessels that danced over tight skin.

His eyes followed your lips, and a small smile tugged at his own. The way you cared tempted his heart to ache. You were always so strong for him. So capable, raw. No matter the way his body towered over yours, there was nothing he could compare to when he saw your strength, the spine of your spirit, the gleam in your eye. The power of your will to overcome, to be known. You were ethereal, a prism, refracting safety and comfort like light. You were a tree, encasing rings of wisdom, bearing fruit, breathing in toxins and exhaling that which compels life itself to persevere. He pursed his lips and swallowed, yielding to his thoughts. They floated and swam, sometimes glimmering in the light behind his eyes.

Keeping an insistent grip on one of his hands, you backed away. “Come to bed, cielito.”

You disposed the towel in the laundry bin, slipped off your cardigan and dropped your pants before making your way to meet Kylo under the sheets. One of your legs laid on his and you rested your ear over his heart as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you as close as he could manage.

> **_Thump_ **
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> _Twenty-one days you spent_
> 
> _wondering_
> 
> _where he’d flown off to_
> 
> _wondering if he was safe_
> 
> _if he was hungry._
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> _Wondering if he_
> 
> _wondered the same for you._
> 
> _You could be angry_
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> _for so agonizing_
> 
> _over his absence_
> 
> _bathe in the fiery incentive of regret_
> 
> _alas_
> 
> _he was cotton in your ears_
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> _muting the violent voice_
> 
> _of self-resentment._
> 
> _He was a gap in the clouds._
> 
> _A medicinal luminary_
> 
> _that soothed_
> 
> _and healed_
> 
> _and fucked out_
> 
> _the inhibitions of your soul_
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> _until they tumbled from your mouth_
> 
> _with spit and cum_
> 
> _and praise._
> 
> _Until your joints melted_
> 
> _and your muscles went limp_
> 
> _and your face went slack with strain_
> 
> _and labor and pleasure._
> 
> _Until your mouth_
> 
> _could only babble his name._
> 
> **_Thump_ **
> 
> _He was the chalice_
> 
> _that shelved the vigor_
> 
> _of mind and body_
> 
> _when it became overwhelming_
> 
> _When it burdened your thoughts_
> 
> _and made your bones creak._
> 
> _And o, he was here_
> 
> _His life was thump, thump, thumping_
> 
> _against your ear._
> 
> **_Thump_ **

Minutes passed and you were slowly being encompassed by the dark, comforting noise of sleep when you heard an incoherent murmur of thoughts messily tangling and swarming around him. Distorting his energy. Your brows furrowed and you nuzzled your face into his bare chest.

“Kylo, aren’t you tired?”

He started to sit up, and you moved out of his way, avoiding the arm that swung from behind your head. For a moment, you thought he might leave. After all that time without him, something writhed in your heart, dreading any distance between you. But he only moved to sit up against the headboard, and reached to pull you to lay against him between his legs.

“Come close, muñequita.”

You shimmied back and let yourself go lax, one hand brushing the hair sprinkled along his thigh. His arms bound you in the hard, soft, smooth, calloused nest of his body. The liss of his hands skating over the soft curves of your body hindered the alarm of anticipated absence.

You both sighed, entangling in each other through the Force. Delighting in one another’s presence.

Even in the limbo of sleep, you were overcome with the comfort of his touch. “Te extrañé.”

“I know.”


End file.
